After a tortuous hour of
math (algebra to be exact)
I start dinner; Middle Eastern stew:
Cardamom, Coriander, and turmeric.
Cooking is a little like math, but
much more like art. My mind begins
to ease as Bach pumps out
one of his symphonies from
the CD player. The stew boils, and
I want to go outside and play,
chase windmills. Where\'s Sancho?
Dulcinea\'s here, frustrated by my inept
ability in the equation game.
I fucking despise algebra.
Where\'s the Bluebird, the Sunflower,
Bukowski or Eugene O\'Neil?
I want to smell a six-week-old puppy,
taste Van Gogh yellow, fuck until
I can\'t walk, and ease my
way into old age.
Vivaldi plays his victorious song.
And I know I\'ll conquer the
numbers game, but probably not
before it drives me crazy;
actually, it\'s a short putt.